


Underneath the Subtlest Inflections

by pierrot



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Dreams, Light Angst, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9920750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot/pseuds/pierrot
Summary: There are dreams and then there's reality. Aiba and Jun fit somewhere in between.





	

The brief window just before night falls is Jun’s favourite time to be alone. Twilight favours most cityscapes, and Tokyo is no exception; sunset-tinged grey settles over the horizon like a comforting blanket and calms the storm of piercing artificial lights soon to appear.  
  
Work prevents Jun from arriving home early enough most days. He chose his apartment precisely for the lucky days when he can relax on his spacious balcony with a glass of wine and a soft soundtrack of favourite songs, old and new, filtering through the glass doors from the sound system inside, secluded enough for no fear of surveillance or interruption.  
  
Today is one of these days until it’s not. The sound of the glass doors sliding open invades his peace, and heavy footsteps thud slowly onto the wood panelling behind him.  
  
Jun doesn’t turn around.  
  
“So this is your famous bonsai?” says the voice belonging to the footsteps. “I always wanted to see it. Thought by now you might have an entire collection going. Either that or you’d’ve moved on to the newest obsession already.”  
  
Jun asks Sho how he even got inside the apartment. He glances over his shoulder as he does, unable to resist, and Sho just smiles in that obnoxious way of his he surely knows is guaranteed to piss Jun off. Or maybe it’s just Sho, somehow able to tug at one of the tendrils of suppressed irritation lying buried beneath Jun’s skin simply by existing. On bad days, at least. Today is a bad day.  
  
He doesn’t ask Sho why he’s there. It’s better not hearing the reason spoken aloud.  
  
(Jun does know already, but he could conduct a masterclass in denial at this point.)  
  
Sho moves closer, face growing more serious with every step. For all his supposed interest in Jun’s bonsai, he barely spares it a second glance. His gaze is too focused on Jun, assessing him as he slots into the gap next to where Jun is crouched in front of his small collection of plants.  
  
Jun hates feeling that look from Sho.  
  
“You should talk to him,” Sho says. “You know that he’ll always listen to you. He wants to understand.”  
  
Jun grunts. It’s not Sho’s business, even if it is.  
  
He can feel Sho’s judgmental gaze pricking heat into the side of his face but he keeps his eyes averted. Moving to face Sho without actually looking at him directly is child’s play for Jun. The only difficulty comes from the way his muscles protest when he pushes himself up from his crouch to stand; creaking just to tell him that he’s old.  
  
Sho’s lips curl at the corners when Jun makes his request. “You remember how this works, right?”  
  
He does, and he’s not interested in playing any more games. He reaches to grab Sho’s hands so Sho doesn’t get the chance to make this process more difficult than it has to be.  
  
Sho turns his body so they’re square. They end up standing face to face, hands linked between their bodies, noses practically level and eyes forced to meet.  
  
Their similar height can be a curse sometimes.  
  
Though Jun’s apartment is on a high enough floor to be as peaceful a place as can be found in the middle of the city, it’s never completely silent. Faint noises of traffic below filter skyward and the wind whispers a soft tune. He listens to these reminders of the world passing around them as he holds Sho’s hands, until they fade and finally stop.  
  
There’s nothing, then, except the sounds of their breathing, amplified without any background noise to distract.  
  
“Talk to him,” Sho says.  
  
A childish instinct has Jun pulling his hands out of Sho’s grasp. When he comes to his senses again, there are pins and needles in his legs, and Sho is gone.  
  
—  
  
The first time Aiba shows him, they’re both seventeen and too far from home.  
  
Over a year spent doing little that makes sense with no time to think and four other bandmates always crowding him means Jun has learned to roll with whatever is thrown his way. Strange becomes the new normal and all. He doesn’t realise how much that’s become the underlying motto of his life until he catches up with an old friend who can only stare at Jun with wide-eyed disbelief as he nonchalantly describes days packed with bizarre photoshoots and exhausting rehearsals.  
  
It’s okay. Jun understands the sacrifices needed to become a star.  
  
The attitude he’s developed out of necessity does not, however, extend to welcoming strange entities clambering into his bed with a total absence of grace after he’s already fallen asleep. Intimate touching might be part and parcel of the idol life (he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s in their contracts somewhere) but Jun’s sleep is his own.  
  
Aiba is too persistent. He tangles his bony ankles with Jun’s, likely leaving marks that will show in the morning, and nudges him across the bed so their shoulders are pressed tightly together. It’s a worry that Jun can tell it’s Aiba there with him in his bed just from the shape of his body and the feeling of his warm breath on Jun’s neck.  
  
“Hey,” Aiba whispers. Jun’s earlobe itches. “I want to try something.”  
  
The response Jun gives him is more colourful than what befits a proper Johnny’s idol.  
  
“Shh.” One clammy hand clamps firm over his mouth as the other find its way to wedge through the gaps in his fingers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just relax and go back to sleep.”  
  
Such a request seems impossible, but the hand on his mouth drops down to his chest, spreading warmth through the thin fabric of his pyjama top, and it’s somehow comforting enough to slow his breathing, make his face relax, and then—  
  
The next time he regains consciousness, Aiba is standing before him. Their hands are still linked but they’re no longer inside the hotel room—that much, at least, is clear. Jun thinks he can feel himself lying on his bed even though he knows he’s standing upright.  
  
“I thought that maybe we could find a way to see Nino,” Aiba says, as if nothing’s amiss. He frowns as he looks around them. There’s nothing to see except a dizzying mishmash of colours. Trying to make sense of them makes Jun feel as though he’s going to be sick.  
  
“I guess it didn’t work out the way I was hoping.” The frown turns into a frustrated pout. “I really thought I was getting better at this. The last time with Nino was totally different.”  
  
He takes two steps away from Jun, but on what ground he’s walking, Jun can’t tell. A tug of Aiba’s hand pulling too far has him tumbling upside down for a terrifying moment before he’s back in place as though nothing happened.  
  
“Sorry!” exclaims Aiba, squeezing Jun’s hand in a death grip. “I didn’t know that would happen, I promise. Let’s just keep still until I figure it out.”  
  
His thumb runs rough strokes along the inside of Jun’s wrist.  
  
_What…_  
  
The half-formed question doesn’t pass audibly from Jun’s lips, but Aiba hears it anyway. “Don’t worry, you’re just dreaming,” he says with a smile. “Except that I’m here too. Neat, huh?”  
  
Jun stares at him.  
  
“You can think this is weird as much as you want but it is really happening.” Aiba looks around, still displeased by what he sees. “Though I guess not much is actually happening right now. Are your dreams always like this? Can’t you, like… I don’t know, try to make it better?”  
  
Jun might not understand what exactly is going on but he does know he’s tired and irritated and not in the mood to indulge this delusion any longer. He looks at Aiba’s face, still turned away in a thoughtful consideration of their surroundings, and then down at his hand, clutching Jun with no intention to let go.  
  
Aiba isn’t fast enough to react to Jun yanking his hand away, breaking the connection between them, before it’s too late.  
  
When Jun opens his eyes, he’s back in the hotel room. Aiba is pressed against the length of his body, soundly asleep and snuffling into his neck. There’s a patch of wetness on Jun’s skin just above his collarbone and it’s sort of disgusting, sort of nice. He thinks about pushing Aiba away and rolling over to the edge of his bed to try find some uninterrupted sleep before his alarm sounds, but the room is cold and Aiba is warm, and he’s somehow discovered a way to fit their awkward bodies together that feels comfortable.  
  
Jun closes his eyes. No one has to know if he arches his neck a little closer to Aiba’s mouth.  
  
—  
  
Time dulls his memories of how exactly Aiba managed to explain what occurred that night. He thinks maybe he’d simply accepted it in stride, just as he accepted Aiba’s presence in his bed on nights when they shared a hotel room. It’s _Aiba_ , after all. Jun doesn’t need more of an explanation than that.  
  
Their expeditions, as Aiba likes to call them, are more successful after the first time. Jun becomes used to the feeling of being in two places at once. He clenches his hand a little tighter around Aiba’s every time he senses himself slipping and Aiba always anchors him back to unreality.  
  
Jun’s dreams come in bold strokes and bright colours; loud but never chaotic. Sometimes when he’s with Aiba they see scenes like movies play in front of them and it only takes the smallest step to the left before they become the central protagonists. Other times, the dreamscape is merely a backdrop, and they flit around an eerie haze of overwhelming sensation before they can find a quieter patch to rest.  
  
Every so often, he asks Aiba what the others’ dreams are like. No matter how much Aiba tries, he can never seem to take Jun with him past the boundaries of Jun’s subconscious to experience them for himself.  
  
“You’re too stuck inside yourself,” Aiba teases. “You need to loosen up.”  
  
Jun doesn’t think that’s really the problem.  
  
Aiba tells him about how Ohno does often dream of oceans and figures in watercolours or charcoal sketch, but Nino’s dreams aren’t really what anyone would expect. He says, “Sho-kun’s dreams are kind of like his drawings. Not as in everything looks like he drew it, but the feeling… it’s like I can’t quite tell what he’s trying to show me at first until I start looking through his eyes and then it all suddenly makes a weird kind of sense.”  
  
Jun’s mind catches on the phrasing. He’s never thought of the dreams he shares with Aiba as a means for him to _show_ Aiba anything; he’s always thought of them as a strange place they create together. He wonders if Aiba’s been seeing them in a different way this entire time.  
  
He’s not sure he wants to know what Aiba thinks Jun’s been trying to show him.  
  
—  
  
Jun doesn’t talk to the others about their dreams with Aiba, and none of them ever ask anything of him.  
  
Somehow, they all know exactly what’s going on anyway.  
  
—  
  
“Want to see something interesting?” Nino says to Jun one day when they’re sitting in their dressing room waiting for the others to arrive. He has a deck of playing cards in his hands—his new favoured replacement for his DS—and Jun’s been watching as he practises manipulating the cards with his fingers.  
  
Jun’s certain he’s seen all of Nino’s tricks but he still leans forward and puts his phone aside. Part of him always hopes to catch Nino out; to see the mechanism behind the magic. He hasn’t been all that successful so far. Nino’s too much of a perfectionist to show off anything half-formed.  
  
On this day, Nino dispenses with the usual grandstanding. He’s silent as he fans the deck open and offers it to Jun. A card is chosen at random and Nino places it facedown on the table between them, still keeping tight-lipped, his face revealing no hints as to what he’s planning. Jun waits for the trick to start in earnest, but Nino ignores the card on the table and returns to playing with the deck in his hands.  
  
“Do you think it’s all Aiba’s doing?” Nino says right when Jun’s about to lose patience. “Or is it because we’re Arashi?”  
  
Jun doesn’t understand what Nino is saying. _Misdirection_ , he thinks. He knows better than to let himself be so easily distracted.  
  
Nino places the deck aside and shifts onto the edge of the couch. His arm stretches out across the table, hand hovering above the card placed there. “Watch carefully,” he says.  
  
There are at least three inches of space between Nino’s hand and the table. Jun looks, but he can’t see any signs of a trick, any reason to explain how the card that was flat on the table suddenly flips over under Nino’s hand.  
  
He’s certain he didn’t blink.  
  
Nino draws his hand away, revealing the face of the card to Jun. It’s the same card he remembers choosing.  
  
“And now, for my next trick, I’m going to make it disappear.” Nino holds his composure for a second before bursting into laughter. “No, not really. But it’d be cool if I could, wouldn’t it?”  
  
—  
  
Jun has an easier time accepting the impossible magic Nino performed than his suggestion that it could have anything to do with Aiba or Arashi.  
  
He watches the others a little more carefully after that. There are questions he wants to ask them, but he’s afraid to know the answers.  
  
—  
  
It isn’t fair.  
  
—  
  
The thing about Sho is that he’s never been very good at keeping a secret. The pressure builds in obvious ways across his face: the space between his eyebrows gets smaller with every minute he’s left alone to think, his neck carries more tension, veins becoming more prominent, the corners of his mouth develop an odd twitching habit.  
  
When his usual morning coffee intake increases from one cup to three and he starts jumping every time someone calls his name, Jun knows it won’t be long before whatever it is he’s trying to hide is out in the open. It’s only a question of _who_ will be the one to get him to spill.  
  
Nino’s a safe choice. They’ve been each other’s secret keepers since long ago. Or maybe Ohno; Sho trusts Ohno. He depends on him in a way he can’t with the others.  
  
Sometimes Jun is the person Sho turns to first. Usually when he’s looking for advice; when he wants to have a serious discussion he knows Jun will be ready to provide. Jun makes sure to keep his phone fully charged next to his bed when he sleeps so he doesn’t miss any surprise 4 A.M. phone calls.  
  
In the end, Aiba’s the one to coax confession from Sho somewhere between filming on a Tuesday and a photoshoot on the Wednesday. It seems only fitting. By the time word makes it around to the entire group, Aiba already has an entire list of _Reasons why Sho being able to stop time for short intervals is Totally Awesome_ and some rather strange ideas for how they should test his newfound ability.  
  
Sho looks relieved when Aiba rambles on about his proposed experiments, full of infectious enthusiasm despite being derailed by Ohno’s confused questions and Nino’s mocking criticisms. Jun can understand him. It’s easier to gloss over how terrifyingly abnormal all of this is when everything is accepted without serious pause to dwell.  
  
—  
  
“You know... you smell different in dreams than you do in real life.”  
  
Jun turns his head to look at Aiba. They’re lying down somewhere—Jun doesn’t really know where, it’s one of those nothing-and-everything places—with their shoulders pressed together and hands linked. They’re floating, perhaps. Jun feels as though he might be.  
  
Aiba’s been fiddling with Jun’s hand in his for the past several minutes. Or longer; it’s hard to tell. He’s holding it up above his chest, his other hand tracing lines over Jun’s knuckles and tugging at his fingertips.  
  
“I thought smells were one of those things you couldn’t notice in dreams,” Aiba says. “Same as how you can’t really taste anything either. And then I realised at some point that I _could_ smell you. I thought maybe it was just my memories, like my brain was telling me I knew how you were supposed to smell so I was filling in the blanks, but I’ve been thinking about it… and you definitely don’t smell the same to me here as you do in real life.”  
  
He angles his chin slightly, eyes sliding down to meet Jun’s gaze. “I don’t know why that is,” he says.  
  
Jun has no answer for him. The logic of dreams isn’t something he thinks he’ll ever understand. He’s not even sure anymore if that’s where they go after falling asleep; if he’s really dreaming at all.  
  
“Do I smell like anything to you?”  
  
Honestly, Jun doubts it. Touch and sight alone have been difficult enough to master with any surety. He still feels lost sometimes. Shadows tend to creep into the edges of his vision and during nights when he goes to sleep particularly exhausted, the only thing he remembers later is the feeling of Aiba’s warm touch.  
  
Without Aiba’s guiding hand, Jun knows he would be left adrift in a formless haze.  
  
Even so, he thinks it’s better to test his assumption before responding. Aiba appreciates the scientific method.  
  
He shuffles closer, stretching his neck so his nose reaches skin. Aiba squirms as Jun’s breath fans across the scant millimetres that separate them and the reaction only encourages him to push closer. He bumps the underside of Aiba’s chin, feeling the softness hidden under the sharp line of bone.  
  
Jun’s mind supplies a memory of a fragrance. It’s the warmth of a baseball field on a sunny day, freshly cut grass and subtle earthiness. It’s crisp notes of citrus-scented shampoo laced with the cool softness of moisturiser and a faint scent of herbal tea. It’s the lingering musk of sweat that clings tightest to skin, only detectable when he presses close enough.  
  
He rolls over to straddle Aiba’s hips. Years of practice have given him the confidence to move without fear of slipping away.  
  
“Well?” Aiba says.  
  
Jun shakes his head. He knows what he sensed had only been a memory.  
  
He’s no longer interested in smell anyway. Aiba mentioned something about taste, and that’s a far more interesting concept.  
  
He ducks down, tongue darting through his lips to lick a quick stripe over Aiba’s chin.  
  
No identifiable taste springs to mind when he pulls away. There’s only a frustrating nothingness that feels strange on his tongue.  
  
He’s not about to give up after the first attempt.  
  
This time, when he bends down, he aims a little higher. He can definitely feel something undeniably real as he drags his tongue around the corner of Aiba’s mouth: sharp prickles of stubble giving way to a softness when he touches the curve of full lips, quick puffs of warmth tingling across his skin. But there’s still no hint of any taste.  
  
Aiba waits patiently as Jun considers his findings, gaze steady and fixed on him.  
  
The problem, Jun decides, is that he lacks enough of a frame of reference from which to draw upon. There’s no point trying to make comparisons to something he hasn’t experienced intimately. It’s a flawed experiment.  
  
He pulls the hand being clutched by Aiba’s up between their chests. Aiba’s grip is tighter than it was before and Jun has to stretch his fingers to shake it loose.  
  
Sudden fear causes Aiba’s eyes to widen. He tries clamp his fingers down against the back of Jun’s hand, but a look from Jun has him going still.  
  
Slowly this time, Jun relaxes the hold connecting them once more. He keeps his eyes locked with Aiba’s as he does, offering silent reassurance that he’s not trying to escape.  
  
After he’s finally satisfied, Jun leans back down for the last time, unlacing his fingers from Aiba’s gradually as he finds his lips.  
  
—  
  
It takes them years to notice anything out of the ordinary with Ohno. Aiba points out that his taste buds are definitely abnormal, but a round of special Aiba-style experimenting proves he still has his limits.  
  
When Aiba declares the results of his experiments, Nino snorts and says, “Of course he doesn’t actually have some kind of supernatural ability to eat anything, what would be the point of that?”  
  
“What’s the point of any of this?” says Sho.  
  
“Didn’t you know, Sho-kun? Management’s thrilled at the idea of idols with superpowers. The marketing opportunities will be endless.”  
  
“What, are they going to give us a new show? Start selling tie-in merch?”  
  
“Yeah. There’s going to be a watch with your face on it and when you press a button, it stops working. Amazing, right?”  
  
Probably, Jun’s the one to figure it out because he keeps a bit more of a line between when he touches and when he doesn’t. He rarely finds himself unconsciously gravitating towards the nearest warm body. He doesn’t always want to have that point of physical connection that the others seem to enjoy. He appreciates his space.  
  
It’s not as if he’s completely averse to touching, it’s just that he prefers to be the initiator. He can go further with Ohno than most because with Ohno it never really matters: he accepts however Jun wants to show his affection with the mildest of reactions.  
  
Jun thinks sometimes that he just enjoys trying to see if he can provoke one of Ohno’s sharper moods.  
  
For a long time, Jun assumes that’s all there is to it. If he clings to Ohno a little more than usual, he barely notices.  
  
It’s only after the incidents with Nino and Sho, when Jun starts to become hyperaware of every tiny thing, that he realises there’s something different about the way touching Ohno makes him feel. It’s nothing like his response to Aiba’s touch (thrumming with energy and bright with anticipation and _warm_ , so so _warm_ ) but Ohno always makes him feel calm. Soothed.  
  
Later, Sho theorises that it could be why Ohno often seems so sleepy. “It probably takes a lot of energy out of him to be like that. Maybe we should try leaving him alone for a while to see if it helps.”  
  
“That’s just the way he naturally is,” Nino retorts. “Avoiding him isn't going to change anything. He’ll just forget why we’re doing it and get upset.”  
  
Jun asks Nino how it is he never noticed anything when he’s spent so much time surgically attached to Ohno’s armpit.  
  
Nino holds his gaze steady with Jun and doesn’t respond.  
  
Despite their agreement that nothing should change, Jun stays away for a while after his realisation. He thinks he’s being subtle about it, but Ohno pouts and Sho frowns and Nino stares at him a little too long, a little too knowing.  
  
Aiba stands next to him with a hand always managing to touch some part of his skin when no one is watching.  
  
It’s Ohno, though; _his_ leader, so there’s no chance of a new infamous ice age. Jun learns to make peace with what he can’t control, and they fall back into their usual rhythm before even the most sensitive fans can notice. It’s easier than he expects. He thinks he might be growing up.  
  
—  
  
Some time later, Jun starts keeping a journal.  
  
—  
  
Aiba finds it one day.  
  
He’s at Jun’s apartment, rifling through his cabinets looking for hayfever tablets. Jun is focused on the script he’s reading, so he misses seeing how Aiba’s fingers close over the edges of soft leather, how he tugs the journal free from the drawer it’s hiding in and flips it over in his hands.  
  
When Jun realises the rummaging noises that were distracting him have stopped, he looks up from his script. Aiba is crouched on the floor a few metres away with Jun’s journal open in his lap.  
  
Jun’s heart drops.  
  
Slowly, he puts his script aside and pushes himself up off the couch. His footsteps are slow and soft, carefully measured, but they’re enough to alert Aiba’s attention. Jun can see the way his shoulders hitch slightly, drawn tight with tension and the sudden halt of his breathing, and he wonders if Aiba is going to try to hide the evidence of what he’s been doing before Jun reaches him.  
  
He doesn’t. Aiba keeps the journal open in his hands even as Jun stops, close enough to see the familiar lines of his handwritten scrawl on the pages. Lists and dates and half-formed observations.  
  
Aiba looks over his shoulder at Jun. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted but he says nothing. He doesn’t even move.  
  
Jun reaches for the journal, fingers closing over one edge, and the action makes him feel as though he’s admitting to some sort of crime.  
  
A crime of what exactly he doesn’t know, but he does know how to recognise the feeling of guilt that surges through his chest when he sees the expression on Aiba’s face. There’s a sadness behind his eyes. Jun hates few things more than to see Aiba sad.  
  
Having a weakness be revealed comes close. His embarrassment turns outward, transforming into anger at Aiba for having no sense of boundaries, for not being able to leave things alone.  
  
For the way he’s pitying Jun.  
  
It’s irrational, for sure, but Jun is quick to temper and not always quick to calm. He’s at least self-aware enough at this point in his life to know his worst impulses so he keeps his mouth shut and his breathing steady. The journal gets shoved back in the drawer and he walks away.  
  
Aiba lets him go.  
  
—  
  
They still sleep in the same bed that night, because neither is used to spending their planned nights together any other way. They don’t know how to resolve arguments properly because they don’t fight. They wait for storms to pass.  
  
It’s worse, Jun thinks, because it’s not actually a fight. It’s a revelation of Jun’s carefully guarded insecurities. His secrets.  
  
Secrets are not supposed to be a feature of their relationship.  
  
Jun curls onto his side when he climbs into bed, back turned to Aiba and hands held protectively in front of his chest. They won’t be dreaming together that night.  
  
—  
  
Aiba always wakes first. His schedules start earlier than Jun’s, so he’s already gone by the time Jun rouses himself from his fitful sleep.  
  
There’s a note sitting on Jun’s dining table when he wanders past. A single, white sheet of paper marked by sprawl in black pen, unmissable against the stark expanse of wood.

 

_It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk so I thought I should probably give you some space. But I’m always here for you! When you’re ready.  
  
          I love you._

 

Jun reads the note over until the words become blurry and he still doesn’t come up with a clear answer to how he should deal with the feelings clawing at the pit of his stomach, dark and uneasy.  
  
—  
  
There’s a lot about working life as Arashi that has become a familiar routine this far in their career, both on camera and off. Little surprises them anymore. Jun could probably sleepwalk his way through most of his schedules if he wants to, and lately there have been more days when he wants to, but he won’t. He takes pride in his professionalism.  
  
Years of experience don’t prepare him for the sudden assault of Nino’s hand grabbing his as they wait for their turn to be called to an interview.  
  
Jun looks down at the surprise presence of Nino’s stubby fingers wrapped tightly around his own. It’s not like Nino. He’s touchy with others but not so much with Jun; he knows Jun’s boundaries and he rarely sees fit to breach them.  
  
Today is an exception, apparently. Staring at Nino’s hand doesn’t make it go away so Jun shifts his gaze to Nino’s face. He doesn’t say a word.  
  
Eventually, Jun gives up and asks Nino what he’s doing.  
  
“I heard this building is haunted,” Nino says. “Bad spirits who take control of people’s bodies and make them act like jerks.”  
  
His eyes flit sharply to meet Jun’s gaze. “I don’t want to see Jun-kun turn into a jerk. Doesn’t suit you.”  
  
Jun holds his breath as Nino squeezes his hand, fingertips pressing into skin.  
  
Someone calls their names and Nino lets go.  
  
He thinks that’s the end of it, but Nino turns to face him before they leave, hand coming up to rest against Jun’s shoulder. His eyes are softer now. They’re filled with the special look of concern Nino reserves for friends.  
  
“Don’t let yourself get taken without me here to hold your hand,” he says. “You’re better than that.”  
  
Nino always has so much faith in him. Jun hopes it’s not misplaced.  
  
—  
  
It’s a total cliché to describe the masses surrounding them as a “sea of people” and Jun doesn’t think it’s a very accurate description anyway. The ocean is cold, but Jun is so very hot, burning with the lights and the noise and the adulation pouring down from every direction, soaking through his skin and leaving him drenched with sweat.  
  
A “cauldron of humanity” he thinks he heard someone say once, and it certainly feels that way. There’s something almost magical about how every carefully chosen ingredient comes together, bubbling and boiling through the enclosed space, to create the intoxicating sensation he can only feel when he’s on the stage.  
  
He looks to the left and there’s Ohno, casting a spell over the audience with his voice as he sings, clear and sweet. He looks to the right and he waves at the fans gathered there, triggering an instant reaction he doesn’t need to see with his eyes to know will come. He lifts his microphone to his lips and there’s so much power in such a simple action, waves of attention rolling his way, making him the centre of the entire universe in that moment.  
  
He starts running across the stage, feeling weightless, and his feet barely seem to touch the ground. Jun doesn’t need to think about anything for those few seconds. He’s flying.  
  
Looking ahead, he finds Aiba coming towards him from the other end of the stage. Jun can see the huge grin on his face with total clarity despite the distance, the lights, the adrenaline messing with his focus. Aiba somehow manages a cartwheel without slowing down, stumbling out of the landing until his hands find Jun’s arms to grip.  
  
“Come on,” Aiba says, tugging at Jun’s sleeves. “Let’s try it.”  
  
Jun doesn’t have to ask to know what Aiba’s suggesting. He’s instantly aware, a clear image springing forth as if it’s something they’ve planned even if he knows they haven’t. It’s not something Jun’s ever pulled off successfully before, but now, without reason, he’s caught by the insistent belief that he can.  
  
“Don’t worry,” says Aiba. “I’ll be here to catch you.”  
  
He breaks away, giving Jun space. There’s no time to think about what he’s doing; Jun needs to ride with the moment while he’s still being propelled by self-confidence.  
  
He lunges down, gathering strength in his core, feeling the muscles in his thighs tighten, and then he jumps. His feet lift off the floor, his shoulders fling backwards and he arches his back, picturing the perfect, fluid curve of his body in motion, completing a full rotation before his feet come back down to solid ground.  
  
Jun is soaring for a moment until he’s not. There’s almost an audible _click_ when it all starts to go horribly wrong and he’s no longer flying, only falling.  
  
His body seems to forget how it should be moving. Jun crashes to the ground.  
  
He expects to feel pain as his back makes contact with a solid surface, but there is none. The ground cushions his fall, strangely soft and spongy, and—no, it’s not the ground underneath him. It’s a mattress.  
  
He opens his eyes. Aiba is hovering above him, hands splayed across Jun’s shoulders.  
  
“See?” he says. “I told you I’d catch you.”  
  
_A dream_. The realisation crashes through his chest, carving out a cavity that sucks his breath away. His throat feels too choked to form words.  
  
He’s been tricked.  
  
He deserved it.  
  
“Hi,” says Aiba, voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you. Is that weird to say when I see you all the time? But it’s true.”  
  
Jun can’t say it’s weird when he feels the same way. Seeing Aiba’s face mere inches above him, fringe falling over his eyes and lips a little chapped but still appearing so soft, Jun realises it’s been weeks since he’s properly _looked_ at Aiba.  
  
He’s been so fucking stupid.  
  
The hand on Jun’s left shoulder presses down, fingers worrying into skin, as if Aiba needs a spot to anchor himself for when he continues to speak. Words tumble past his lips in a breathy rush.  
  
“I thought about you when I was doing laundry the other day and I reached for the fabric softener—you know, the one you bought for me? Because it’s good for allergies? I ran out, you see. And I wanted to ask you where you got it but I don’t know if I could and that was weird, Jun. Why wouldn’t I be able to ask you that?”  
  
He’s rambling, which means he’s nervous. Jun reaches up to take hold of Aiba’s fidgeting hand, feeling small trembles still under his touch.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
The apology scrapes through Jun’s throat in a cracked whisper. His voice feels thick and scratchy, as if he really did just spend hours performing at a concert, singing and shouting at the top of his lungs.  
  
He clears his throat and licks his dry lips. He tries again.  
  
“I never meant to shut you out. I just… it was stupid. I was stupid. I—”  
  
Jun doesn’t know when his other hand moved to cup Aiba’s face. Tears are starting to show in Aiba’s eyes, threatening to spill, and Jun presses his thumb under an eyelid to catch them.  
  
Aiba sniffs and a choked laugh bursts past his lips. “I came here planning to say all of these things to you and now look at me. I’m a mess.”  
  
Jun wipes away a strip of wetness on Aiba’s cheek and Aiba smiles.  
  
“I wanted to tell you that I understand. I get it, Matsujun, I really do. If everyone else started being able to do weird things all of a sudden and I was left out, I would hate it. I wouldn’t be quiet about it, either. I would complain and sulk and then… then I think I would probably start to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Like it meant I wasn’t really Arashi.”  
  
He twists his hand around in Jun’s grasp to squeeze his fingers. Jun finds himself squeezing back.  
  
“But I also wanted to tell you that you’re wrong.” Aiba pulls their joined hands over Jun’s chest, directly above his heart. “Arashi is in here. Arashi is you. It’s got nothing to do with the stupid things the rest of us can do.”  
  
“It’s not just Arashi,” Jun says quietly. “It’s also you. You were always the one who was special first. I thought… Nino said… maybe it was something to do with you. And I was the one left out.”  
  
Aiba’s eyes widened. “That’s stupid,” he says, pressing their hands firmer against Jun’s chest. “I’m in here too.”  
  
He drops down closer, nose almost touching Jun’s face. “Do you know what your special power is, Jun? It’s making me feel like I really am special. Because when you look at me the way you do, I think I can do anything.”  
  
Jun swallows. “Of course you can do anything. You're Aiba.”  
  
“And you're Matsujun. If I can do anything, so can you."  
  
They stay like that for a moment, hands linked and eyes locked, the sounds of their breathing slowly synchronising.  
  
“I guess the question is, then,” Aiba says, “if we can do anything, what do we do? What do you want, Jun?”  
  
Jun smiles. After spending so long wallowing in a self-made web of twisted confusion, he finally gets the chance for an easy answer.  
  
“I've only ever wanted to be with you.”  
  
He discovers Aiba's smile is sweetest when it's pressed against his lips.  
  
“Me too,” Aiba whispers, and he kisses Jun again.

**Author's Note:**

> The "cauldron of humanity" line is something _(I think)_ Julian Casablancas said at festival once and I guess it stuck with me.
> 
> Title taken from "Are You... Can You... Were You? (Felt)" by Shabazz Palaces.


End file.
